Well it's the mad chickenhawk with the dirty lick style
And pullin 211's ever since TAA-DOOW
There's ten million ways to die
Choosin Mack and hit the boopin' floosin'
Off this gang-bang music
So all I'd wanna got the room stumped
I'm smokin, make dough like Trump
Cookin powder til they chunk, punk!
Straight off dust, nigga trust I bust
And cross em out and put a'K if they ain't down with us

It's off the hook, nigga, I'm a Westside crook, nigga
The forty motherfuckin dollars on my books, nigga
I'm not an MC, I'm not a G
I mean I'm A-to-fuckin-Z and everything in between
Rappers like gangbangin cos I'm in it to the fullest
And my hood ain't never dodgin bullets
It's all about the Bloods and Crips, no one tri-ips
Colors and dips, bitches and chips, nigga!

Woo-ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo-ooo
What's this my ??? radar system
Detects busta B-I-itches on the premises
Nigga be dissin on a down low
So now my motto is "Fuck every rapper from the East and the West Coast"
New School, Old School, I hate you motherfuckers
I'm steady plottin wipin my ass wit'cha album covers
Cross em out and put a'K
Then no Saint days, nigga, then run the fuckin holidays

'Ey! I Cross 'Em Out and Put a 'K!
Inglewoooood!
Nigga! To South Central L.A.!

Goddamn nigga! This shit make me sick
All these West Coast cowards ridin New York dick (Brrgh!)
Bustas get sprayed wearin high-top fades
And Kangols backwards with dark-ass shades
No switchblades, nigga, we shoots
That's how it is on the West when you're true to your roots
So kill the action, punk, hoochie bitches clown
Nigga get your sag on and keep your pants legs down

Check it! Ho shut your mouth and get naked!
I'm Connected and ain't no bitches singin on this record
No R& B tracks, just niggas on wax
Kickin facts with these gang-bang raps
Every nigga in the industry wanna rap with me
Like it's all good, you ain't from my hood
Nigga, I don't even like your shit, I don't like your crew
I'm true, you're through, nigga fuck you!

Nigga get off, this shit is wack
Fuck that, I bust you in the can with a motherfuckin propajack
Spit on ya, shit on ya when I get on ya, piss on ya
You're goin up and your fuckin cos I ain't lovin none of ya
And even female rappers are gettin smacked
Stabbed in the titties and kicked in the back
Cos I'm a westside Connection hista
Bored from a lover dishin nothin but (foolers?) and dirty rubbers

'Ey! I Cross 'Em Out and Put a 'K!
Inglewoooood!
Nigga! To South Central L.A.!

Brrrgh!
In about four seconds, a killa will begin to speak

Now you can cross out the busters and snitches
B-Real and Miss Muggs is like Hollywood bitches
From the niggas I know in the streets I run through
Swear to god bitch real it ain't one dog that know you (not one)
So watch what you say, who ya talkin bout, ya tweakin
And keep hogs out'cha mouth when ya bitch ass is speakin
I'm sick wit it, cappin'cha dome till I hit it
This Westside Connection, Cypress know they can't fuck with it

Use to get kisses and hugs, now I'm servin ya slugs
Fuck B-Real and Muggs, y'all niggas ain't no fuckin thugs
Be all surprised, everybody dies
From Columbian neckties covered with flies
Ya fuckin maggots, ya fuckin faggots
I should alert you, every motherfucker that I know wanna hurt you
So when I pull my spraycan to spray
I'm sprayin C-H-K all motherfuckin day

I once knew this bitch by the name of Q-Tip
Who claim he had a problem with this gangsta shit
Behind closed doors, runnin his mouth like a trick-in
Til this nigga bout the name of Dove caught him slippin
Tied his ass up and threw him in the truck
Put an apple in his mouth and dug his ass out
About a month later they found his body stashed
In a trash bag with a cucumber in his ass

'Ey! I Cross 'Em Out and Put a 'K!
Inglewoooood!
Nigga! To South Central L.A.!

Don't go chasin waterfalls
Stick to them dicks and balls you're used to
Punk ass motherfuckers!